


learning to make fire

by seventhstar



Series: a covenant with a bright blazing star [19]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alpha Katsuki Yuuri, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Regency, First Time, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Married Sex, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Omega Victor Nikiforov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-13 11:17:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11184000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seventhstar/pseuds/seventhstar
Summary: "Dissatisfied, Yuuri retreated to his bedroom.He realized too late that he had come up too early, as Viktor was still dressing — or rather, undressing — for bed. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, in only his smallclothes, hair loose about his shoulders. His comb was in his hand.Their eyes met, and Yuuri flushed and stared intently at the carpet in the hopes that it might swallow him up. Viktor was as white as the moon, as finely shaped as any statue; only the splotchy flush spreading across his chest betrayed him as more human than divine."[part of an ongoing series of fics, telling the story of poor and scandalous trademan's son viktor nikiforov's marriage of convenience to the reclusive lord katsuki]





	learning to make fire

**Author's Note:**

> This scene is approximately 99% of the reason this AU exists.
> 
> This is part of an ongoing series. I've working on this AU for a while, and when I realized each of the scenes I've written was distinct stylistically, I decided to post them as separate fics rather than as chapters.
> 
> The end result is this: I'll be updating the series periodically, and the fics will be arranged chronologically, but I'm not going to write them periodically, so you may end up reading things out of order.

Dissatisfied, Yuuri retreated to his bedroom.

He realized too late that he had come up too early, as Viktor was still dressing — or rather, undressing — for bed. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, in only his smallclothes, hair loose about his shoulders. His comb was in his hand.

Their eyes met, and Yuuri flushed and stared intently at the carpet in the hopes that it might swallow him up. Viktor was as white as the moon, as finely shaped as any statue; only the splotchy flush spreading across his chest betrayed him as more human than divine.

Unbidden, Yuuri’s mind returned to that moment earlier in the day. He had stumbled upon Viktor pleasuring himself frantically in Yuuri’s bed — in their bed — one hand clamped over his mouth so that he would not be heard. Yuuri had fled as silently as he could; he could not imagine what he would say should Viktor notice him. It had never even occurred to him that Viktor might pleasure himself as Yuuri did; indeed, until that moment, he had never really been certain that Viktor desired intercourse at all. That Viktor sometimes had intimated that he would not object to Yuuri’s advances meant nothing; Yuuri did not think Viktor was above using his loveliness as a lever to get Yuuri to do what he wanted.

Now he knew that Viktor felt as Yuuri felt, and he had not been able to think of much else all day.

“Yuuri.”

“Viktor.”

“Have you come for me, then?” Viktor smiled mockingly; there was no mirth in his eyes. Yuuri felt like a beast standing over him, but to sit beside him seemed unimaginably forward. “Shall I pretend some maidenly shyness for you?”

“No!” Yuuri said. He swallowed, and tried not to let his eyes linger too long on Viktor’s chest, on his thighs, on the thin fabric that covered him. “I — there is no need for you to pretend anything you do not feel.”

Viktor’s ears were red, too.

“I fear that I have not always behaved as I ought,” Viktor said. His smile had slipped a little; Yuuri caught a glimpse of nervousness underneath.

“That does not matter,” Yuuri said. He reached out, emboldened by the slip in Viktor’s confidence, and touched his cheek. “I desire you just as you are.”

“Dear one.”

“Viktor. Can I —” Yuuri couldn’t bring himself to say the words aloud. Instead he seated himself beside Viktor on the bed, and took the comb from him. Viktor turned away and bent his head; the invitation was clear.

Yuuri had not brushed any hair besides his own (or his horse’s) since he was a child. He combed out Viktor’s long, fine hair gently; nothing would spoil this moment more than if Yuuri inadvertently hurt him. Viktor hummed with pleasure as Yuuri worked. He had never made any attempt to hide his displeasure with Yuuri before, and Yuuri trusted that he would chastise Yuuri if he behaved poorly now.

Even in the dim candlelight of their bedroom, his hair shone. If Yuuri’s fingers lingered overlong, admiring the softness of the strands, Viktor did not protest.

When he was finished, he parted Viktor’s hair into sections. Viktor had once told him he had to wear it braided at night or risk it tangling. Yuuri had not braided anything in over a decade, but surely he could manage it.

The nape of Viktor’s neck was exposed; Yuuri could see the first bump of his spine. Without thinking, he leaned forward and kissed it. He wanted to kiss the scent gland on the side of his neck, too, but could not quite summon the courage.

“Yuuri.”

He kissed him there again.

“Will you leave your hair down?” he asked.

“I cannot sleep with it undone. It knots terribly.”

“I will braid it for you. After.”

“Then yes.”

Viktor moved to arrange himself on the bed. Yuuri set down the comb and gripped the sheets so tightly he might tear them in anxiety. Here was the moment he had both longed for and dreaded; Viktor was laying himself out for Yuuri, as if their sham of a marriage entitled Yuuri to anything. Yuuri longed to please him — he did not worry about his own pleasure, as he doubted there was anything Viktor could do that wouldn’t undo him — and did not know how.

He tried to quiet his treacherous mind as he seated himself over Viktor’s legs. He was still dressed, but the idea of exposing himself to Viktor’s gaze was too much, and Yuuri could not make himself do it, not yet. Besides, even fully clothed, the proof of Viktor’s power over him was plain as day; he was hard and throbbing already.

“Do you plan only to admire me, dear one?”

“N-no.”

“Then? I am waiting.” Viktor gestured to himself carelessly. Yuuri wondered if he were wet, and felt his face heat.

“You will laugh, I am sure, but.” Yuuri swallowed heavily. “I have not. That is to say, I have read…I understand the mechanics of…” He managed to look at Viktor, then. His expression was kind, and it lessened Yuuri’s shame. “You will have to direct me in pleasing you.”

“Kiss me.” Viktor licked his lips.

That was easy enough. Yuuri lowered himself until their noses were brushing, Viktor’s broad shoulders underneath his palms, and pressed his mouth against Viktor’s. Viktor’s lips moved eagerly against his, and Yuuri imitated him until they were licking into each other, until he had learned every corner of Viktor’s mouth with his tongue.

When they broke apart, Yuuri did not move away. He stayed close to Viktor, letting their breath mingle, until Viktor gently took his hand and placed it over his heart. It was racing. That, more than anything, reassured Yuuri that he was acting in accordance with Viktor’s true wishes, and was not merely indulging Yuuri.

 _Foolish of me,_ Yuuri thought as he ran his hands over Viktor’s chest, feeling the play of muscle under the skin. He was slighter than he had been when they were wed, but he was not even the tiniest bit decreased in beauty. _Viktor always does exactly as he pleases._

“I was prettier when we first met,” Viktor said, as if he could read Yuuri’s thoughts.

“You are as pretty now as you were then,” Yuuri said. He traced Viktor’s erect nipple with his thumb, and Viktor squirmed underneath him. He let his fingertips trail over down Viktor’s ribs, over his stomach, over his hip. Viktor looked more undone with every touch, as if Yuuri were caressing him into insensibility. There was a bright red blush over Viktor’s scent glands now, at his wrists and throat and thighs. The sweet smell of him permeated the air.

Yuuri let himself look down, and saw the fabric between Viktor’s thighs was so wet it had adhered to him. Yuuri longed to put his mouth there, and taste it for himself. He longed to peel off Viktor’s sodden smallclothes and touch him in ways that would give proof to their marriage.

Viktor’s hand slipped between them. It settled over his sex, and Yuuri waited with bated breath, for directions, or permission, or whatever Viktor might choose to give him.

Viktor wrenched off his smallclothes and threw them aside. Yuuri could not have looked away then if he had been commanded to at swordpoint. It was one thing to be familiar with the differences between omega and alpha bodies academically, and another thing entirely to see Viktor exposed like this. Nothing Yuuri had ever studied or been told by well-meaning peers or overheard in his club could have prepared him for the sight.

He was beautiful, of course. He was slick, and pink. His little pearl was swollen, and his labia were slightly parted, and the scent of him filled the air and lit a fire in Yuuri’s blood.

Yuuri lifted a hand, as if to touch him, and hesitated. Viktor made a soft, impatient sound, seized his wrist, and pressed Yuuri’s hand between his legs.

He was soft as velvet, and his hips lifted to meet Yuuri’s tentative exploration. Yuuri touched him, dugs his fingers into the creases around Viktor’s slit, ran his thumb over Viktor’s reddened labia until his fingers glistened. He pinched the bud at the top of Viktor’s sex gently. Viktor moaned in encouragement, and Yuuri had to suppress a brief and wholly ridiculous moment of fear that they would be overheard.

“Here,” Viktor said, and he put his hand over Yuuri’s to guide him.

The very air seemed to grow thick with desire as Yuuri stroked him. He stimulated Viktor steadily, for how long he could not have said; the only sign that time was passing was Viktor’s rising pleasure. He grew slicker and slicker, his cries less and less restrained. Yuuri held his wrist in his free hand, drawing circles over the scent gland there.

He knew the moment Viktor’s pleasure reached its peak, because he soaked Yuuri’s fingers, eyes closed, sex clenching around nothing.

Yuuri wanted to fill him.

He put wet fingers to his mouth, and lapped away the proof of Viktor’s climax as he waited for Viktor to recover himself. When Viktor’s eyes finally opened, when his gaze met Yuuri’s with a frightening intensity, Yuuri reached out and dared to part Viktor’s sex with his fingers.

Viktor nodded.

Yuuri managed to fumble open his trousers, though his fingers were clumsy with arousal, and then he found himself atop Viktor, held securely between his thighs. Viktor’s hands were on his back, urging him on. Yuuri dug one hand into Viktor’s hair, which was spread out like moonlight made solid across the pillow. With the other he braced himself as he penetrated him.

They coupled with frantic haste. Yuuri lost himself in Viktor’s body, in the warmth of him, in the way they fit together. There was some rhythm there Yuuri could not grasp, but it did not seem to matter; Viktor bared his throat shamelessly as he clung to Yuuri, and Yuuri’s mouth watered with the desire to bite. He buried his face against Viktor’s neck instead, rut against him bereft of his usual anxiety.

If Yuuri had any felt any shame in the act, he disregarded it now. There could be nothing wrong in this. Viktor arched beneath him, and Yuuri pressed him into the sheets, and together they tipped over a precipice of pleasure.

He was dimly aware of nothing but the sound of Viktor’s breath and the seed Yuuri had spilled dripping out onto the bed for what felt like hours but could only have been moments. He wiped the sweat from his face with the back of his hand. Viktor’s eyes were closed, but he was smiling.

“Are you well?”

“Of course.”

“Good. That’s good.” Yuuri could not assemble his thoughts. He stroked Viktor’s hair, and remembered that he had promised to braid it. That would have to be done soon, before either of them fell asleep where they were laying.

Slowly he disentangled himself from Viktor, whose limbs had wrapped themselves around Yuuri like a particularly amorous cage. He wet a washcloth in the basin on the nightstand. Viktor looked a little surprised when Yuuri started to clean him, but he did not protest. He looked rather pleased.

When he was satisfied that they were as clean as they would be without baths, Yuuri retrieved Viktor’s nightshirt and hid himself in his dressing room to change his clothes. He was glad that he had bothered to learn as many domestic spells as he had — it would have been mortifying had he had to call his his valet now — as he put aside his clothes from dinner and pulled the nightshirt over his head.

The fabric seemed remarkably cool; or perhaps whatever fire Viktor had lit in Yuuri still smoldered under his skin.

When he returned Viktor was combing out his hair again. Yuuri took over without a word, and Viktor bowed his head so that the nape of his neck was exposed again. Yuuri untangled all the knots his grip had caused earlier. If Yuuri was tempted once or twice or five times to kiss him again, until the back of Viktor’s neck was red, well, he could hardly be blamed.

The end result of his attempt at hairdressing was poor indeed, and yet Viktor toyed with the crooked braid with an expression of real pleasure. His nightshirt had been left unbuttoned. Yuuri could see the beginnings of bruises Yuuri had sucked into his skin.

Side by side in bed together, they curled up against each other for the first time. Yuuri had lain here often enough, first to watch over Viktor while he was ill, then to tend to him while he recovered. Yet there had always been a carefully curated space between them, a breadth that Yuuri could not bring himself to cross. How foolish he had been before, to think that because Viktor’s birth was lower than his, he would be nothing. Viktor, who had corrected all Yuuri’s accounts in half the time, who could wear lightning like it was costume jewelry, who had more life in him than Yuuri had ever had.

This was comfortable.

He would not mind, if every evening proceeded this way.

He would not mind, if Viktor was always…

 

**Author's Note:**

> There are people who carefully craft stories that build up to a climax, and then there are people like me who craft entire AUs so that they can write out of order and complain that AO3 doesn't have a "consummating our fake marriage" tag.
> 
> I've never written anything like this before, so please comment and let me know what you thought!


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